


A Holiday Affair

by My_Beating_Hart



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Archery, Brothels, Drinking, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sex, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-18 15:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18122909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: The Vael palace was as big, if not bigger than, Vigil’s Keep. Nathaniel stared up in amazement at the towering building of pristine white marble and gleaming gold accents. It reminded him of the grand Orlesian buildings he’d seen on family excursions to Val Royeaux. It screamed wealth. Their retinue passed through the gates, and Nathaniel watched the paved road open out onto an elegant stone courtyard.Of course, the Vael family and most of the palace staff had turned out to welcome their esteemed guests. There was King - No, Prince Andras Vael. He was a tall Marcher man with a regal stature, a simple crown on his head. Beside him, Aunt Megan smiled in welcome at her distant relatives. Her complexion was pale unlike the warm brown skin of her husband and sons. The older son, whose name Nathaniel didn’t know, stood with a gentle smile on his face in a good impression of his father. Beside him stood a clean-shaven younger man about Nathaniel’s age. He had to be Sebastian. He had the most brilliant blue eyes Nathaniel had ever seen.





	A Holiday Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post made by my dear friend becausedragonage: http://becausedragonage.tumblr.com/post/156035288382/would-you-ship-it-sebastiannathaniel Blame her for this, and also putting me in rarepair hell.

The Free Marches’ coast, sea glass-colourful and smooth, sprawled in stark contrast to Amaranthine’s bleak coastline of sharp cliffs and tiny coves.

“It goes on for _miles_ ,” Nathaniel whispered to himself. He’d stopped teasing Delilah about her seasickness for long enough to stand topside with Mother and Thomas as their boat pulled into harbour at Ostwick. He could taste the salt on his lips as he stood near the prow of the boat, staring in awe.

The docks clung to a small part of the shallow bay, so small compared to the wide stretches of pebbled beaches. Fleets of moored fishing boats bobbed on the incoming tide. The awe he felt looking at the beautiful vista was worth the two-week voyage. The sun was warm on his skin.

“Far more welcoming than Kirkwall,” Mother commented.

Ostwick perched in amongst verdant hills that rolled down towards the long bay. It looked so much more vibrant and alive than the dry academic drawings he’d studied in history books. Much of the city was hidden protectively behind two walls; an earthen outer wall, and a tall stone inner wall that reminded him of Amaranthine’s wall.

He could see people and carts moving on top of the outer wall. As they drew closer to the docks, he realised that the outer wall also served as a path up to the city. On the other side, he could just about see some buildings. They were the first to be sacrificed in an attack on the city, but Ostwick hadn’t been besieged since the Storm Age. Did they have enough supplies gathered to withstand sieges anymore? Had the wall ever been breached? The history books had neglected to tell him.

Almost tucked out of sight of the coastline behind a hill thick with olive trees were the glinting spires of some kind of tower. Was that the Ostwick Circle tower? So close to the city? He stared in awe as the boat docked, impatient to disembark and see the city firsthand.

“We aren’t going to stay in this wretched place for long,” Father reassured them in the carriage ride to a tavern suitable for a passing noble family and their retinue. “A few days to recover from the voyage and then we’re on the road to Starkhaven.”

They were here in the Free Marches to see the Vael family, distant cousins on Mother’s side. Always cousins in some way. Nathaniel could barely remember the last time they’d visited. He’d been old enough to walk. He remembered running after two older boys to the stables. The horses had towered over him like giants and haunted his nightmares for a few months after.

“I haven’t seen Megan in almost fifteen years. Her sons will be grown by now,” Mother continued as the carriage rattled along the dirt road through Ostwick. “The youngest one is around your age, Nathaniel. Sebastian, I think he’s called. Do you remember him?”

Nathaniel shook his head, keeping his gaze on the passing scenery. It’d been easy to push Thomas along to sit in the middle of the seat next to Mother. The view was worth the kick in the shins he’d gotten in return. The eclectic collection of buildings weren’t like any he’d seen in Ferelden. There were many proud buildings of carved stone, predominantly off-white in colour, but there were some dashes of colour. Light brown clay, dusty red and pale green, one or two vivid blue buildings that matched the blue skies overhead. He could see different architectural styles; sturdy Fereldan buildings with thatched or tiled roofs, the buildings with the vibrant blue paint must have been Orlesian, others that looked Tevinter by design, and some styles he didn’t recognise at all. Overall Ostwick looked like three or four different cities from across Thedas had collided long ago and settled into an unsteady harmony.

“Mother, does Aunt Megan have any daughters I could play with?” Delilah asked from next to Father. Now they were off the boat she’d recovered some of the colour in her cheeks and looked every bit of her prim and proper fifteen years. Nathaniel certainly wasn’t going to let her forget about that melodramatic crying spell she’d had on the second night below deck anytime soon. Perhaps he’d bring it up in front of the Vaels? He grinned to himself at the idea. Nothing like a bit of public humiliation for his beloved baby sister.

“I’m afraid not, dearest. But I’m sure Aunt Megan will love to spend time with you and see what a good lady you’re becoming.” Mother answered.

“Sebastian? Wasn’t he the little tearaway? Or was that the older one?” Father wondered.

“Definitely Sebastian, and I think he’s gotten worse with age. He’s old enough to know his mind and his mouth. I suspect from Megan’s last letter that he spends a great deal of family coin on whores and wine…” Mother spoke the last sentence quietly, but the carriage was only so big. Nathaniel kept his head turned to look out the window and gave no sign that he could hear her.

“Perhaps Nathaniel will be a good influence on him, leading by example?”

“Of course, Father.” Nathaniel doubted that he had a choice in the matter.

“Good,” Father looked him up and down with a thin smile of approval. That was the closest he ever came to outright praise. “Set an example for your siblings, and show the Vael boy how he should act.” His smile thinned out to a bloodless line, and his gaze turned critical in a way Nathaniel knew well. He braced himself. “Stop slouching, Nathaniel. Sit up straight.”

The silence was icy. He could feel Thomas and Delilah watching him. He glanced at Mother, but she smiled at him as if there was nothing amiss.

“Yes, Father.” Nathaniel straightened up and set his shoulders back, taking care to keep his expression neutral.

 

* * *

 

The journey from Ostwick to Starkhaven was as long as the time at sea had been. The days and miles passed quickly as the Howe family’s small convoy travelled north through the Marcher hinterlands. The wilderness didn’t look too different from the Ferelden hinterlands at first, all rolling hills of pastures and woodland owned by banns. Once they were past the Vimmark mountains the plains swept on in wide, low plateaus crisscrossed by roads and the occasional farm or homestead.

There wasn’t much activity on the roads, but as they neared Starkhaven the main road became crowded with travellers, carriages and merchant caravans as it followed the wide Minater River’s course. A day out from Starkhaven, they were able to see the city on the horizon. From a distance, Starkhaven was a long island of earth jutting out of the river. Sunlight gleamed off the tall grey walls that protected the city’s three major levels and the sleek marble palace at the heart of the city.

A few hours away from the city gates, their procession halted so the family could change into their best clothes and ride into Starkhaven rather than stay cooped up in the carriage. Nathaniel was glad of the fresh air and the chance to stretch his legs, and this way he could see Starkhaven for himself rather than fighting to peer through the carriage window.

The air grew hot and humid under the noon sun as their procession walked along the main granite bridge that led to Starkhaven’s main gate. They halted to wait in line to be allowed into the city. Nathaniel’s horse fussed at the noise of the people and carts around them, and it took some tight circling to keep it calm. Well, as calm as a Forder could get. The horse settled with an impatient huff, but Mother gestured for a servant to stay close to grab the reins if needed. Nathaniel scowled; he wasn’t a child bumping along on a pony like Thomas. He could manage his horse well enough by himself.

The line ahead of them moved quickly, and soon they were within the shadow of the city walls. Nathaniel stared up at the imposing gates and the towering stone walls until his neck hurt. It reminded him of Amaranthine’s gate, but there were no heads on pikes to serve as warnings here. Nathaniel craned his neck to look to the city beyond the gates. It looked… Like any other city. Paved roads, crowds of people going about their daily lives under the bright Bloomingtide sun. Still, it was a new city in a foreign land. Nathaniel couldn’t wait to see it.

Once the guards had confirmed the papers bearing the Howe crest were genuine, they were allowed into Starkhaven proper.

“A paved road! All the way from the bridge to the palace!” Thomas whispered from behind Nathaniel. He turned in his seat to see Thomas gawking down at the large slabs of stones beneath them as if he’d never seen paving before.

“Well, they _are_ royalty,” Delilah answered as she smoothed out the creases in her dress and fought a losing battle against the wind to keep her hair neat. “They have to impress visitors.”

“We’ll be there soon,” Father spoke up from ahead, “So I need everyone on their _best_ behaviour. I don’t want to hear any petty squabbles in front of the Vaels. We are the Howes of Amaranthine. Act like it.” Father ordered.

“Yes Father,” they chorused, obedient as ever.

The Vael palace was as big, if not bigger than, Vigil’s Keep. Nathaniel stared up in amazement at the towering building of pristine white marble and gleaming gold accents. It reminded him of the grand Orlesian buildings he’d seen on family excursions to Val Royeaux. It screamed wealth. Their retinue passed through the gates, and Nathaniel watched the paved road open out onto an elegant stone courtyard.

Of course, the Vael family and most of the palace staff had turned out to welcome their esteemed guests. There was King - No, _Prince_ Andras Vael. He was a tall Marcher man with a regal stature, a simple crown on his head. Beside him, Aunt Megan smiled in welcome at her distant relatives. Her complexion was pale unlike the warm brown skin of her husband and sons. The older son, whose name Nathaniel didn’t know, stood with a gentle smile on his face in a good impression of his father. Beside him stood a clean-shaven younger man about Nathaniel’s age. He had to be Sebastian. He had the most brilliant blue eyes Nathaniel had ever seen.

“Welcome to the Free Marches,” Prince Andras greeted them as they dismounted.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Father answered, handing the reins off to a waiting stablehand.

“Forgive me, serah, it’s been a while. Rendon and Elaine, isn’t it?”

“Yes, as well as Nathaniel, the oldest,” Mother gestured to him, and Nathaniel took that as his cue to bow.

“Hello, Your Highness.”

“Delilah, our middle child...”

“Pleasure to meet you, serahs.” Delilah curtseyed with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“And Thomas, the youngest.”

“Hello, Your Highness.” At a look from Father, Thomas bowed.

“Excellent,” Prince Andras smiled. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you all. You know myself and Megan. Our two lads still here at the palace are Benjin and Sebastian; Brennan, the oldest, is squiring with relatives in Kirkwall.”

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Benjin spoke as he bowed.

Sebastian stayed quiet, and didn’t bow alongside his brother. He didn’t seem as interested in welcoming his guests. There was a smile gracing his lips, but it seemed borne out of politeness rather than genuine welcome.

“Sebastian, don’t _you_ have something to say to our long-travelling guests?” Aunt Megan prompted. There was a certain clipped quality to her words and a new undercurrent of tension in the way she held herself that Nathaniel was familiar with. He’d heard such questions from his parents and Grandmother when he’d been under their scrutiny in front of guests. He bit the inside of his cheek, looking from Aunt Megan’s expectant gaze to Sebastian, who didn’t seem to notice the tension in the air. If he did, he was very good at hiding his unease.

“Of course,” Sebastian replied as if nothing was amiss. He bowed, taking Mother’s hand in his to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Then his blue eyes met Nathaniel’s gaze, and he could have sworn that Sebastian winked at him. He let go of Mother’s hand and straightened up. This time, his smile looked sincere. “Welcome to Starkhaven, Arl Howe and family.”

“We’re glad to be here, young Sebastian.” Mother answered, a rare genuine smile on her face.

“Oh, it’s been such a long time! Nathaniel’s all grown up,” Aunt Megan fussed now the greetings were over, and for an unpleasant moment, Nathaniel was certain she would try and pinch his cheeks. That was another dim memory he had of his last visit to Starkhaven. “And I’ve not met Delilah or Thomas. How old are they all?”

“Come, dear, we can continue this conversation inside. Our guests must be tired,” Prince Andras interjected. “It’s a long ride from Ostwick, nevermind from Ferelden. Let’s go inside for refreshments.” He gestured towards the palace, and then he led the way inside.

After some much-needed food and drink in the parlour, Aunt Megan wouldn’t stop fussing over her niece and nephews, making up for so much lost time. Eventually Prince Andras, Father and Mother broke off to start a tour of the palace.

“Can I come along too, Father?” Nathaniel asked. He dreaded being left at the mercy of Aunt Megan’s endless questions.

“I’m sure Sebastian would be happy to give you a tour of the grounds,” Prince Andras offered, looking around the parlour for his youngest son. Sebastian was nowhere to be seen, and Nathaniel hadn’t seen or heard him leave.

“Ah, it seems he’s grown bored of our guests already,” Benjin had an odd smirk on his face like he was enjoying some private joke at everyone else’s expense.

“Benjin, don’t speak ill of your brother,” Prince Andras chided. “In fact, if Sebastian is otherwise occupied, why don’t _you_ show Nathaniel around the grounds and to his room?”

Benjin’s smirk vanished. “As you wish, Da,” He nodded a farewell as he got to his feet, beckoning Nathaniel to join him.

The walk out to the courtyard was silent as Nathaniel tried to think of something to say. Benjin bore a strong resemblance to his father, even down to the neatly trimmed beard. Nathaniel knew he should be brimming with questions about Starkhaven’s history, but there was only one question on his mind.

“Do you know where your brother is?”

Benjin sighed. “I’m not his keeper, but if I had to place a bet…” He looked Nathaniel up and down. “How old are you, again?”

Nathaniel stood up straight. “Eighteen. Why?”

“No reason. He’s at prayer, I’d wager.”

“ _Prayer_?”

Benjin nodded. “Sebastian is rather… Devoted to his favourite chapel out in the city. He’s there for days at a time, praying away every spare hour he has. Silver, too.”

“He must donate a lot.”

“Aye, he does. Too much, I think.” Benjin’s gaze was on their surroundings rather at him. Nathaniel frowned. Something was off.

“Well, here are the grounds,” Benjin announced as they went through a doorway that opened onto the palace courtyard.

There were servants and soldiers walking to and fro but the courtyard was so big and exposed under the midday sun that it felt empty. The courtyard was a large rectangle that swept out before them with two branching lanes that flanked the palace and presumably led around back. It was paved with thick slabs of pale grey or brown stone, barring a rough patch of dirt roughly forty feet in diameter in a far corner. There was a small group of soldiers occupying it, running through drills.

“That’s the training yard over there,” Benjin explained. They paused to watch the soldiers sparring amongst themselves, but Nathaniel’s gaze was soon drawn beyond them to the other corner of the yard.

“Is that an archery range?”

“You’re a bowman?”

“I’ve practised since I was ten.”

“Ah. Maybe our Sebastian will have a match with you before you leave?”

“I’d like that. I can’t practice properly against the soldiers back at the Vigil. Half of them let me win because they don’t want to upset me. Or Father.”

“Doesn’t that sound familiar?” Benjin smiled. “That’s a fair shame.”

They carried on walking, following the left-hand lane which led around back of the palace.

“There’s not much to see back here. The gardens, a well, the back of the kitchens, another way up to the battlements...” Benjin explained, almost apologetic.

“Can we go up to the battlements?”

“I don’t see why not.”

They ascended a flight of wooden stairs that had clearly been added after the palace had been built and soon stood on the battlements facing north. Barring the higher floors of the palace, this must have been one of the highest points in Starkhaven. Nathaniel could see _everything_. The city sprawled out before them. If he squinted he could see faint dots of movement along the narrow ribbons of road as people lived their lives. A sliver of the Minater river was visible over the city walls and the sweeping hinterlands far beyond completed the scenic vista. The view took Nathaniel’s breath away more than the wind that pulled at his hair.

“Do you come up here often?” He asked.

“Not as much as I used to, or should,” Benjin admitted with a frown. “I’m usually stuck indoors. I’d forgotten how humbling the view is. Do you have much of a view at Vigil’s Keep?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Not as good as this. Just farmland and some forests Father and I hunt in occasionally.”

“Being so close to a forest must be good. Looking down at Starkhaven, all I can wonder is whether I’ll be able to spot my younger brother in a back alley somewhere,” Benjin shook his head. “But enough about Seb, I’d better do as asked and show you to your room, aye? Come on.”

Nathaniel followed Benjin back inside, up flights of stairs and down corridors.

“The guest wing,” Benjin announced with a dramatic sweep of his arm and a smile on his face. “Your door is third on the left there. Your parents are first door on the right, your brother’s across the way from you, and your sister is in the room next door. Hope that’s alright.”

“Of course. So long as I have my own room.”

“I know the feeling. Me and Seb were always barging into Brennan’s room to pester him, I imagine it’s the same with you and yours. The door locks from the inside if you need to keep ‘em out of your business. Key should be on the dresser,” Benjin winked as he held the door open for him. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The door clicked shut behind Benjin and Nathaniel was left to inspect his room. Fittingly for a royal palace, it was decorated to the highest standard, bordering on ostentatious. The paintings hanging on the walls depicted the seven scenes of Andraste’s life, betrayal and death. Nathaniel was more accustomed to seeing them in a Chantry than a bedroom. It didn’t surprise him that the Vaels were devout Andrastians; ruling families had to be. Sebastian was - at least, that was what Benjin insisted. But what kind of man would neglect his guests in favour of prayer? And why go to a Chantry out in the city amongst the common folk when the palace no doubt had a private chapel?

Nathaniel frowned up at the picture of Marefath’s betrayal. Something didn’t add up. He didn’t know what, but there was a missing piece somewhere. It annoyed him, not knowing the full picture, and he doubted that he would find out. Noble families were good at keeping their family secrets from other nobility, and even their own children. Nathaniel could remember the times Father or Mother had ordered him not to play in the Vigil’s dungeons. He could remember the hushed rumours between the servants of sealed passages that ran under the keep and down into the depths of the earth. Mysteries on top of secrets kept from him because he was the eldest Howe lad and not Arl yet. So close but so far from understanding that it was frustrating.

Nathaniel looked at the closed, impassive bedroom door, and felt like he was grasping at smoke. _Something_ was amiss and Sebastian was at the centre of it. The cause of it, if he was to believe what Mother had said in the carriage ride about whores and drink. Maybe…

Someone had brought his bags up and left them at the foot of the four-poster bed that dominated the room. Nathaniel shook his head and set about unpacking his things. Maybe he would find out the truth before the end of the holiday. He doubted it.

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter! Hope you enjoyed it!  
> After a long time of struggling with irl things, I've received some very good news that will hopefully put me on the path to stability and I'm starting to rediscover the joy of writing fanfic again in my free time. Things are starting to look up for me again!


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